


All We Have

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: Take That
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PC Howard Donald doesn't suspect his life is going to change utterly when he answers a call on Canal Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Have

When the call came over the radio, a disturbance in front of a Canal Street pub, typical for a Saturday night, Davy looked over at him and winked.

"Bet it's one of your lot needing rescuing."

"From one of your lot," Howard said, even as he turned the panda car in the right direction.

It had been an accident, telling Davy he was gay, something done on impulse after what seemed like the hundredth time Davy had tried setting him up with a female relative.

"I know your sister is lovely, but I don't think she's quite my type."

"Don't tell me you like blokes." 

Davy had clearly meant it as a piss take. Howard could have made a joke at that point, and things would have gone on as they always did, with Davy assuming he was straight, and continuing to try and set him up with his sister, or one of his numerous cousin. But Howard had felt a sudden need to tell Davy the truth. Constable Davy Ashton had been his partner since he'd finished his training. He trusted Davy with his life. Surely he could trust him with the truth. Especially since in the year they'd been partners, Davy had never made comments about poofters, had never slagged off queers, and treated the rent boys and drag queens they met on their beat with the same respect he showed shop keepers and OAPs. 

"Yeah," Howard had said quietly.

Davy had started laughing, and then stopped abruptly when he realized Howard wasn't laughing along. "You're serious?"

"Yeah." Howard had felt his heart beating in his chest. He'd never been so nervous. But then he'd never come out to a fellow officer before.

"Oh." Davy had bitten his lip and looked out the side window for a moment before turning back to Howard. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Because my cousin's Fred's a lovely bloke, and he needs a nice fella."

So things had continued as they always had, with Davy constantly trying to set him up with a relative or a friend, only now it was boys instead of girls.

Once he turned onto Canal Street, it wasn't hard to spot where the problem was. There was a scrum of people in front of Churchills, milling about in a way that told Howard there was trouble in the middle of them. When they saw the panda car pull up and two uniformed constables get out of it, half of the crowd scuttled away. Not that Howard blamed them. Chief Constable Anderton wasn't that long retired, and Howard was all too aware that certain members of the Greater Manchester Police still thought queers were scum, to be harassed whenever possible. 

A small group of people still surrounded a single man sitting on the kerb, his hands covering his face.

"What's the problem?" Davy asked, leading the way as he always did.

"It's my brother," said a tall man close to Howard's age. "We were coming out of the pub, and two blokes just started battering him." He looked down at the sitting man and put a gentle hand on his head. "That right, Jay?"

The seated man, Jay, nodded, but didn't look up.

"Could you recognize the men who attacked you?" Howard asked, moving forward to stand beside Davy. 

"No." Jay still didn't look up. "I only saw a fist coming for my face, and then things went a bit black. I woke up on the pavement with Simon pulling two heavies off me." He looked up at his brother, and Howard had a shock of recognition jolt his system. The man's face was covered in blood from a nose that was almost certainly broken, his one eye was swollen almost entirely closed and the other was bloodshot, but Howard would have known him anywhere. Jay was Jason Orange. The same Jason Orange who used to dance at the Apollo. The same Jason Orange Howard had had a terrible crush on back when he'd been a teenager. Still had a terrible crush on, if the pounding of his heart in his chest was anything to go by.

"What about you, sir?" Davy turned to Jason's brother. "Could you identify your brother's assailants?"

"Yeah." Simon's expression was grim. "I'm not likely to forget those two fuckers."

"Simon." Jason's tone was one of warning. "Don't."

"Don't what? Don't identify the bastards? After what they did to you?"

"We'd very much appreciate any cooperation both of you could give us." Ever the diplomat, Davy was. But it seemed Jason wasn't willing to be convinced.

"You know I couldn't testify, Simon." Jason looked genuinely distraught, and not just with the beating he'd taken. "It would be worth my job if the headmaster found out I'd been beaten outside a gay bar."

"He couldn't fire you for that." Simon was outraged, and no wonder.

"He could fire me for something else. And he'd do it. You know he would."

Howard felt ill, listening to all of this. Because it was something he knew about, hiding what you were on the job for fear of what might happen. His partner might know he was gay, but he'd made damned sure no one else on the force did.

"We'd be discreet," he blurted out. Jason started at the sound of his voice, as if he'd forgotten there were two police at the scene. "Constable Ashton and me. We wouldn't need to visit your school. Or tell them what happened."

"But they'd find out, wouldn't they, Constable…"

"Donald."

"Constable Donald. They'd find out if I had to testify in court. If some bloody paper reported it."

"Yeah." He couldn't deny it.

"I can't risk it." Jason carefully shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," Howard said quietly.

"I don't suppose we can force you to cooperate," Davy said, even as he gave Howard an unreadable look. "But you need to be looked at. We'll take you to the A&E."

"There's no need," Jason said quickly, even as his brother said "Thank you."

"We don't need a ride," Jason said to his brother.

"We didn't drive, and I don't fancy our chances getting a taxi with you looking like that," Simon insisted. "If you're not going to let me identify those bastards, at least accept a ride from the nice officers."

Jason looked from Howard to Davy and back, jaw thrust out, clearly deciding if they could be trusted. Howard put on his best innocent face, the one he'd used to get out of his worst scrapes as a teenager. It must have worked, because Jason finally nodded.

"Alright, then."

Jason and his brother sat in the back of the panda car as Davy drove them to MRI's A&E. As they pulled in front of the hospital, Howard fumbled in a pocket and pulled out a slightly bent business card that he thrust at Jason through the screen separating them.

"If you change your mind, or if you need anything, give me a call."

Jason almost looked like he was going to turn down the card, but at the last minute he accepted it, and then Davy was out and opening the back doors and he was gone.

After he got back behind the wheel, Davy gave Howard a long, significant look.

"Shouldn't we be moving?" Howard finally asked.

"You know him, don't you?" Davy looked back towards the door Jason and his brother had disappeared through.

"Who?" Howard decided to play dim.

"Our victim, you pillock. Mr Orange. You know him from somewhere."

"I don't know him, exactly. I knew _of_ him." He made a show of buttoning the pocket he'd pulled his business card from. "He used to dance at a club I went to. He were good."

"Oh my God." Davy's eyes went wide. "You like him."

"No, I don't." The denial was automatic and immediate.

"You do." Davy grinned at him. "So, he's the one you've been pining for."

"I haven't been pining for anyone," Howard insisted.

"Of course you have. Not that I blame you. He's a bit of a mess at the moment, but he looks like he'll clean up nicely."

"Davy."

"'Course, it would be difficult: a closeted police constable dating a closeted teacher. But I just bet you could manage it."

"Who says I want to manage it?" Howard protested.

Davy just looked at him with an expression that told him he was a fool, and then turned back to the road.

* * *

Howard didn't think about Jason again for four days. Not much, anyway.

Sunday, he and Davy had the night shift again, and Sundays were never as bad as Saturdays. But there was still enough going on keep them on the hop until they went off shift in the morning. And he spent the whole shift keeping an eye open for anyone who looked like they might be the bastards who'd done Jason. 

He had three rest days coming after that. He spent most of Monday sleeping, like he always did when he came off a night shift. He spent most of Tuesday doing laundry and getting something resembling food into his flat. It wasn't until Wednesday that he had any time free to start wondering if Jason would ever call him. And telling himself he was an idiot for pining—Davy was right, he _was_ pining—over someone he hadn't seen in years.

But when he arrived at the station for an afternoon shift on Thursday, he found a small heap of message slips sitting on the desk he shared with Davy.

 _J. Orange. Please call back._ said the first one, above a number written in Morrison's appalling scrawl. There were four others that were variations on the same theme.

"Fucking hell," Howard said under his breath, just as Morrison walked by.

"Your mate was really getting to be a pain in the arse," he said, nodding at the pale blue slip of paper in Howard's hand. "I kept telling him you weren't in until today, but he kept on calling. Just in case, he'd say."

"He's not a mate," Howard said. "Just a civilian Davy and I helped out on Saturday."

"He's acting more like a bird," Morrison said, just as Howard's phone started ringing. "That's probably him now. He usually calls at this time."

Howard shooed Morrison away, and picked up the phone.

"Constable Donald," he said.

"Constable. Um. This is awkward."

"Mr Orange?" He knew that pleasant, if hesitant, tenor anywhere, and the reality of him actually calling, multiple times, made Howard's free hand begin to shake. He clutched at his leg to stop it.

"Yeah."

"Have you changed your mind about testifying?" That would be one, completely legitimate reason for Jason to call him.

"No! Christ, no." There was a pause and Howard could hear Jason take a deep breath. "No, it's just…you said if I ever needed anything. Well, I know I have no right, but-" He stopped and cleared his throat. "I have a favour to ask."

"What's that?" Howard tried to sound noncommittal, though his first impulse was to agree to whatever it was Jason wanted.

"No, this is stupid," Jason said in a rush. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"No!" Howard blurted out. "Don't hang up. Just ask your favour."

There was a long pause during which Howard wasn't even sure that Jason hadn't hung up on him. But then he heard a long sigh, and Jason began to speak again.

"It's just...I was sat at home all Sunday, dreading leaving the house. And then on Monday my headmaster looked at me like a useless tit when I told him I'd been beaten up, and the rest of the faculty weren't much better. And I was wondering if you could-" Jason broke off.

"Could do what?" Howard gently encouraged him.

"Could show me how to defend myself," Jason said in a rush. "I mean, I've got five brothers, and you'd think one of them would know this stuff, but we're all useless at it. We avoided fights in school just by there being six of us. But I'd feel better going out again if I knew what to do. If that's something you could do?"

"Yeah," Howard said, before Jason could unleash another torrent of words. "I can show you some stuff." 

"You're sure? It's not a bother."

"No bother. And besides," he said, letting instinct push him along, "we've got to stick together, don't we?"

"We?" Jason seemed confused, and then the penny must have dropped. "Oh." He sounded gobsmacked. But then, he had every right to be. It wasn't every day a member of the Greater Manchester Police outed himself to you, even if that outing wasn't exactly direct.

"When were you thinking?"

"I thought maybe after school one night. We can use the school gym."

"I'm on afternoon shift for the rest of the week," Howard said, trying to figure out if there was anyone who owed him a big enough favour to take a shift for him at short notice, and deciding there wasn't. "But Monday I've got a rest day."

"I don't want to interfere with your day off."

"No. It's fine," Howard assured him. "I don't have plans. I probably would have just gone to my local and had an early night in. Give me the school name and the time and I'll be there."

Jason did, and Howard wrote down the details, all the while feeling like he'd dropped into a surreal version of his life where blokes he fancied asked him for favours.

"Got it. I'll see you Monday."

"Thank you, Constable Donald."

"You can call me Howard." And why not. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"Thank you, Howard." It was stupid, but he thought he could hear Jason smiling down the phone line.

"You take care of yourself, Mr Orange."

"Call me Jason," he said, and then rang off.

Howard hung up the phone, feeling ridiculously happy. And it _was_ ridiculous. After all, what had just happened? Someone he used to fancy, who didn't even really know who he was, wanted him to teach him some self-defence. It wasn't quite a date. And yet, he felt like he'd won the FA Cup single-handed.

He was still smiling to himself when Davy arrived five minutes later. Davy didn't say anything until were in their panda car, heading to their patch.

"You seem awfully pleased with yourself," Davy said after Howard had grinned through ten solid minutes of him complaining about his sister-in-law's interfering and his son's constant whingeing for new football boots.

"Do I?"

"You know you do. What's happened?"

"Nothin'."

"That's a pretty impressive nothing," Davy said as he turned a corner.

"Isn't it?" Howard grinned wider.

"Come on. Spill it."

"Oh, alright. Jason Orange called."

"Did he want a date?"

"No!" Howard punched Davy in the arm. "He wants me to teach him how to defend himself."

"Sounds like a date to me."

"It's not a date. It's...it's a public service."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Davy gave him a mad grin.

"You're a bastard."

"'Course I am. After you've performed this public service, are you going to ask him on a date?"

"No!" He felt his cheeks go red, even as he wondered if that was a lie. "Well, maybe. I might have told him I was gay, though. Sort of."

Davy gave him an even wider grin.

"Well, that's a step in the right direction. Sort of." Davy reached over and gave Howard's shoulder a friendly shake. "There's hope for you yet, Howard."

* * *

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Howard could barely concentrate on anything except the fact that he was seeing Jason at the end of the week. That, and he kept asking around on Canal Street, seeing if anyone else had been bashed, if anyone knew who might be vicious enough to punch someone on their way out of a pub. Even if Jason didn't want to testify, Howard was going to make sure those bastards saw the inside of one of Her Majesty's prisons.

He kept a countdown in his head: four days to go, three days to go, two, and then one.

He and Davy finished their shift on Sunday with nothing more serious than a couple of fist fights and a hen party gone wrong. As they were leaving the station house, Davy looked around to make sure they were alone, and then passed him a small box. 

"Present for you."

"What is it?" Howard looked at the box in his hand sceptically.

"Open it," Davy said firmly.

"Alright." Howard gingerly opened the box, half expecting a fake snake to explode from it. Instead there was a glass bottle the turned out to be a cologne he remembered seeing adverts for on the telly. He stared at Davy, gobsmacked.

"What's this for?"

"Thought you'd want to smell nice for your date."

"It's not a date."

"Okay, I thought you'd want to smell nice for your public service."

"I'm not wearing cologne to teach self-defence."

"Okay, then wear it on your first real date."

"How do you know there's going to be a real date?"

"Because if you don't ask him out after tomorrow, I'm going to abuse police resources, look up Mr Orange's address, and show up on his doorstep. And I won't mince words like you always do.

"No!" He jammed the bottle back in its box. "I'll ask him."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"I promise." He glared at Davy. "Do you want me to call you and tell you how it went, too?"

"That's alright," Davy said without a trace of irony. "You can tell me all about it on Saturday. Margery is still expecting you for dinner."

"I'll come for Margery's sake, not yours. You're an annoying bastard," Howard growled.

"So you keep telling me."

"You're never going to change, though, are ya?"

"Nope."

"Bastard."

And all Davy did was grin at him.

* * *

Howard woke up on Monday with a buzzing in his head and a fluttering in his tummy.

Today he was going to see Jason. The prospect was exciting and terrifying in equal measure, and telling himself that it was just going to be a simple self-defence lesson didn't seem to help in the least. He wasn't sure how he was going to make it through the day without his head quite literally exploding. But somehow he managed.

He went for a run in the morning. ( _What class was Jason teaching now? What subject did he teach?_ ) He went to his local for lunch, where they knew enough to serve him a ploughman's and a pint of lager without asking. ( _Was Jason eating in the teacher's lounge?_ ) He did some shopping in the afternoon, and bought a new shirt he thought he might wear to Jason's school, and never mind that trackies and a t-shirt would be more practical for teaching someone self-defence. ( _Did the blue of the shirt really match his eyes like the shop lady said? If it did, would Jason notice?_ )

By the time he was getting changed to go out, he was nervous and ready to call the whole thing off. Except that he knew if he didn't see Jason today, Davy would make good on his threat and go see the man himself. If showing up at Jason's school to teach him some basic martial arts was going to be nerve wracking, having Davy show up at his door would be truly humiliating.

So he put on his new shirt—the blue really _did_ match his eyes—splashed on a bit of Davy's cologne, and then climbed into his battered Fiesta and headed off to Jason's school.

The school wasn't too different from the one Howard had attended: great blocks of concrete surrounded by a yard devoid of anything green. There were a few students hanging about the front, but otherwise it had the slightly abandoned look that all schools got after the students had gone for the day. Pulling to a stop across from the school, Howard stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel of his car until he'd nearly lost the feeling in his hands.

He was frozen with insecurity. What made him think he could teach Jason anything? He wasn't a instructor, just a lowly PC. And he could just forget his ridiculous fantasies that Jason might be interested in him beyond learning self-defence. After all, back in the day, Jason had been famous, in Manchester at least. He'd been in a dance crew that everyone had known; he'd even been on the telly. He wasn't going to be interested in Howard.

He looked over at the school, where the last students were drifting away down the street. No one would see if he drove away now. He could tell Jason he had car trouble, and that would be the end of it. He could tell Davy that Jason hadn't shown up.

Just as he'd decided that leaving was the best thing, a tall, lithe figure emerged from the school's front door and waved at him. Jason was wearing jeans and a collarless shirt, with a book bag slung over his shoulder. Even from the street Howard could tell he was smiling broadly.

"Fuck."

He couldn't leave, not now that Jason had seen him. And he'd promised Jason he would teach him how to look after himself, and he'd do that at least. And maybe, possibly, perhaps Jason might see him as more than just a martial arts instructor.

He got out of the car, and headed towards the school, pasting on a smile to cover his nerves. As he got closer to the school, he could see the damage of the beating was still visible on Jason's face. He wasn't covered in blood any more, but he still looked a right mess. There was a plaster on his nose, and the bruises on his face ranged from dark purple to sickly yellow. But stupidly, Howard thought he'd never seen a man look so handsome, and it was all down to his smile.

Jason's smile was the widest Howard had ever seen, a smile of welcome and genuine pleasure, and it evaporated all of Howard's darkest thoughts. He'd never been smiled at like that before; not by a boyfriend, not by one of those early girlfriends, not even by his mum. He couldn't help but smile back.

"Constable Donald!"

"Just Howard."

"Howard." If possible, Jason smiled even wider. "Are you ready for your most inept pupil ever?"

"I've never really taught anyone before, so I reckon that makes you my best pupil as well."

"I just hope you remember that in an hour." He patted Howard on the back. "Come in. I'll show you the gym, and you can show me how to avoid a repeat of Saturday night."

They moved into the school, and Howard was struck yet again by the oddness of the situation, by the fact that he was about to teach the man he'd been infatuated with back in the day. His thoughts were jarred by the appearance of an older man in the hall in front of them.

"Working late are we, Mr Orange?" The man was balding and sallow-faced, and he looked like he hadn't had any fun since 1972.

"After a fashion, Mr. Phillips." Jason's body language suddenly changed, became more tentative, almost nervous. "This is Constable Donald. He's the one who came to my rescue on Saturday. He's going to show me some self-defence."

"That seems a bit beneath you, Mr Orange," Phillips said with a sniff. Howard was tempted to give him a kick.

"Everyone should know how to defend themselves," Howard said, mentally adding _you self-satisfied bastard_. He'd never liked bullies, especially when they were in positions of power, and this bloke most definitely seemed like a bully.

"Is that the official stance of the Greater Manchester Police Force?"

"I believe it is," Howard said. He wasn't sure, one way or the other, but he was damned if he was going to give ground to this old bastard.

"Well." He turned his attention back to Jason. "See that you lock up properly, Mr Orange."

"I will, sir." Then they were walking away, leaving the old bastard behind them.

"Was that your headmaster?" Howard asked when he thought they were sufficiently out of earshot.

"Yeah." 

Howard hated the way Jason suddenly seemed deflated, his shoulders just a bit hunched over. He wanted to deflate that gloomy bastard in return.

"He could dole out misery for England."

Jason gave a slight laugh and then opened the door to the gym.

Not much had changed in gyms since Howard had been to school. The space was an echoing hall with poorly varnished hardwood floors and the reek of sweaty boys embedded in its walls.

"Where do we start?" Jason asked, putting his book bag against the wall before turning to Howard with an expression that looked more anxious than calm. He was nervous! Which was impossible. His enduring memory of Jason back in the day was of how confident he'd always seemed, how ready to tackle any challenge he'd been. 

"Grab me." Howard said, reckoning he could talk all he wanted, but what he really needed to do was show Jason how this worked.

"What?"

"Grab my wrist." Howard held out his arm, and Jason took his wrist in a loose hold. "No, not like that. Like you really mean it. Like you want to yank my arm off." Jason tightened his hold, and Howard deliberately did not think about how warm Jason's hand felt against his skin.

Howard took a deep breath and did what his old self-defence instructor had told him. Open your hand wide and throw it down. Use your arm as a lever against the other bloke's thumb. And then he was free.

"How does it work?" Suddenly, Jason wasn't nervous, he was intrigued. And that was exactly what Howard needed. 

"Grab me again." And this time he didn't have to tell Jason to do it tightly. "Opening your hand expands your wrist and makes it a bit harder for them to hold on. Throwing your hand down distracts them. Now the other bloke's thumb is the weak part of his hold, so you rotate towards that, and you're done." He broke the hold again and held up his hand in triumph.

"Let me try." Jason held out his wrist, and Howard grabbed it firmly. Two tries, and Jason had it down. "Show me more," he said, all eagerness. His smile was back, and his posture was straight and confident again.

"Okay, let's try a choke hold this time."

As Jason put an arm around his throat, Howard had to suppress a shiver. He'd forgotten how strangely intimate it could be, this sort of martial arts training. You had to get close to the other person, had to invade their personal space, had to handle them. He could feel the heat of Jason's hands on his throat, could feel the tickle of his breath on his neck. 

A shiver of arousal began to travel down his spine, to curl in his balls, but he stamped down on it. Now was definitely not the place or time. Not with that miserable bastard of a headmaster lurking the halls. Jason had been afraid for his job for taking a beating outside of a gay club. He'd have no chance whatsoever if his headmaster caught him being snogged by a bloke in the school gym. And it wouldn't do Howard's career any favours either.

Instead of the sexual heat Jason was generating in him, he concentrated on the pure pleasure of the movement. It was like dancing, like what he'd done, and seen Jason do, at the Apollo so many years ago. And Jason was as good at this as he'd been at the dancing. He was thin and wiry and graceful, and very, very strong. The strength surprised Howard, but it shouldn't have. He'd seen Jason dance, after all, and he knew firsthand how much strength some of those moves took.

He spent an hour, then an hour more showing Jason what he needed to protect himself. He showed him how to block punches and avoid them altogether. He showed him how to break holds, and how to throw someone. And he told him, repeatedly, the most important part of self-defence.

"That's right," he said after Jason had mastered an especially tricky shoulder throw and landed him on the ground. "Put them down. And then what do you do?"

"Run away."

"I think you've got it." 

"It seems cowardly. Running away after you've taken them out."

"You're defending yourself, not proving you're brave." Howard sat up on his elbows. "What if you didn't run and they had a knife?"

"Point taken." Jason sprawled on the floor beside him. "Well, do you think I'm ready for the wilds of Manchester?"

"You'll do. I wouldn't fancy being the next bloke that takes a pop at you."

"I'm hoping there isn't a next bloke."

"But if there is, you know what to do."

"Thanks to you." Jason sat up a bit straighter and cleared his throat. "And speaking of thanks, I was wondering if I could take you out for dinner tonight."

"Tonight?" It was what he'd been hoping for, a date with Jason, but it still caught Howard short. He pulled at his shirt, suddenly conscious of the sweat running into his eyes and down his back. 

"Yeah," Jason continued, unaware of Howard's discomfort. "If you like curry, I know a great place in Rusholme. Been going there for years, and they-" 

"I can't," Howard blurted out. He wasn't fit for a night out, and if he was going on a date with Jason, he wanted it to be perfect.

"Oh." Jason's expression went from hopeful to deflated in no time at all. "I'm sorry. I thought…"

"It's not that I don't want to," Howard rushed to explain. "I'm just a right mess, and my flat's too far away to change, and I'm sure you're tired after teaching all-"

"Tomorrow, then?" Jason broke in.

"Yeah." Because he couldn't resist that hopeful look on Jason's face. 

"Shit." Jason's face fell. "I forgot tomorrow is our monthly faculty meeting. Phillips always keeps us late."

"And then I'm on early shift for three days. We're supposed to be off at 5, but you never know when it's going to go pear shaped." Howard's hope began to slip away. Maybe this wasn't meant to be. Maybe it really was too good to be true.

"Saturday, then," Jason said. "Are you working Saturday?"

"No." And he wasn't. But he was supposed to turn up at Davy's for dinner.

Then again, it wasn't as if he didn't have dinner at Davy's every Saturday they were off. And besides, he reckoned Davy and Margery would be ecstatic when he found out he was going on a date. Though they couldn't be more ecstatic that Howard felt just at the moment. 

"Fantastic!" Jason grabbed pen and paper from his book bag. "Why don't you come to my place? We can go over to the restaurant together." He was scribbling down an address, and babbling about God knew what because Howard couldn't take anything on board. Jason escorted him back out through the school, and before Howard knew it, there he was, stood on the pavement by his car, grinning like a mad bastard.

He was going on a date. With Jason. Saturday.

Fucking hell.

Now all he had to do was get home without wrapping his car around a tree.

* * *

He woke the next day as soon as the sun was up, with a grin on his face and a tremendous sense of anticipation running through every blood vessel, through every pore.

He was going on a date with Jason. Jason had asked _him_ out. It barely seemed real, and yet there it was. 

But he had five days to wait first. And he had to call Davy and tell him he wouldn't be over for dinner. Tell him _why_ he wasn't going to be over for dinner. Howard wasn't sure if he was looking forward to that phone call or dreading it.

He waited until eight to make the call. He knew from experience that Davy and his brood would all be up by then. Margery would be chivvying the kids to get ready for school and chiding Davy for getting underfoot, and it would be mass chaos. With any luck, Howard thought, they'd be too distracted to give him any grief about the date. 

"Hello." Davy answered on nearly the tenth ring, as Howard was about to hang up. He could hear the expected chaos in the background.

"Hi, Davy. It's me."

"Howard. What's wrong?"

"Does something have to be wrong for me to call?"

"No." Davy sounded less than certain.

"Can't I just call to say hello?"

"Yeah, you can. But did you?"

"Well, no."

To his credit, Davy didn't gloat.

"So what's up?"

"I can't make dinner on Saturday."

"Do you have a hot date with Mr Orange?" Then Howard heard a crash. "Joe, leave your sister's books alone," shouted Davy.

"Yeah," Howard said, his voice quiet.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He was a bit more confident this time.

"Marge, Howard has a date," Davy shouted, and Howard cringed. He knew what was coming. There was a squeal, and some clattering, and then Marge had picked up the other line.

"Who's this date with? Where's he from? Do we know him?" There were times when Howard thought it was Margery who should be a police constable instead of a shop's assistant. She would have been tops in interrogation.

"It's the one I was telling you about," Davy said. "The school teacher."

"Oh, he sounded nice. Is he nice, Howard?"

"Yeah, he's nice." And that was a bloody understatement.

"Well, you'll have to bring him over for dinner some night."

"It's only a first date," Howard protested. "I don't even know if he'll want to see me again." Though he very much hoped Jason would.

"He'll want to see you again," Margery assured him. "You're a lovely man, How."

There was another crash and yelling.

"Sarah! Don't hit your brother. It's not his fault he's a boy." Margery yelled. "Sorry, Howard. I've got to keep my children from killing each other."

She rang off. Then Davy was wishing him luck, and hanging up to deal with the kids as well, and Howard was left sat on his sofa, feeling as if he'd survived a spin in a tornado. But that was nothing new with Davy and his family. He loved them like his own family, and he could talk about things with Margery he'd never have told his mum, or even his sister, but they weren't restful. Their house would never be a home to him.

Which got him thinking about Jason, and his house, and wondering if it would feel like a home. Daft to start thinking like that when they hadn't even had a proper date, but he had hope. 

He couldn't wait for Saturday.

* * *

Jason's neighbourhood wasn't so very different from his own, Howard thought as he drove through it. The streets were lined with terrace council houses, some rundown, some not. There were kids playing football in the streets, and neighbours talking on the pavement. He parked a few doors from Jason's and took a deep breath.

Jason's house was like all the others on the street, red brick with no yard to speak of, but it somehow seemed more welcoming than the others. Maybe it was the batik curtains in the first floor, or the warm yellow light glowing from the main window, or possibly just the knowledge that Jason was inside, waiting for him. He smiled, and felt a fluttering in his chest that managed to feel both like nervousness and excitement at the same time. 

Well, he couldn't sit here forever. He grabbed the bottle of wine he'd brought as a gift, and swung out of the car. When he first knocked on the door, there was no response, and he had a brief moment of wondering if Jason had regretted making the date, if he was going to leave him stood on his front step, looking like a tit. But then he heard footsteps, and the clicking of the lock, and then Jason Orange was standing in front of him, with that same brilliant smile he'd shown on Monday.

"Howard! You made it." Jason waved him into the house. "

"'Course I did." He moved into a small sitting room that managed the trick of being both Spartan and cosy. There was a futon couch covered in a fabric that had an Asian feel, and a matching chair. A wine glass sat on a dark wood table in front of the couch, and there were two bookshelves overflowing with books. "I brought you this." He held out the wine bottle to Jason.

"Thanks." Jason took the bottle, and then waved to the wine glass on the table. "I'd just opened a bottle to celebrate surviving a very trying week. Would you like a glass?"

"I won't say no," Howard said.

"Great!" There was that smile again. "You make yourself at home. I'll get you a glass."

Jason moved to the back of the house, and Howard could hear the clink of glasses and the pouring of liquid as he moved further into the room. The books on the shelves covered a jumble of topics, from poetry to drama, from philosophy to history, and the walls were decorated in theatre posters and art prints. Howard began to feel nervous. He was just a common plod. What was he going to talk about with the man who owned these books?

He shuffled uneasily, unsure whether he should sit on the couch or take the chair across the room. Instead he did neither, hovering in an uncomfortable limbo until Jason emerged the kitchen holding a glass of richly red wine.

"Please, sit," he said, sweeping a hand towards the couch. 

That decision made for him, Howard sank onto the couch, and then gratefully took the glass of wine. One sip told him it was a cut above the plonk he'd brought Jason, and fired up another blaze of insecurity in his gut.

Jason dropped onto the couch beside him, pulling his long legs up underneath him with the grace of a lean tomcat and took a sip of his wine.

"It's good, this," Howard said, holding up his glass.

"Isn't it?" Jason took a sip himself. "My brother got it from a client and passed it along. He works in the City, gives me the good stuff when he's got extra. I could never afford wine like this on a teacher's wage."

"Oh," Howard said, and felt some of the tension in his body begin to fade. At least Jason was no more used to wine this good than he was.

He took another sip of the wine and sat back more comfortably in the futon. He tried not to gawp at Jason, but it was hard. Even with the bruises, he was gawpable, as lean as he'd been as a teenager, but with a new maturity in his face that Howard found even more intriguing. He cast about, trying to find something to say that wouldn't sound naff.

"You said it was a trying week?" he prompted, hoping Jason would take the conversational bait. 

"Not so bad as all that, really," Jason said quickly. "Not as bad as it could have been." He took another sip of wine, and Howard tried not to notice the movement of his throat as he swallowed. "But it's hard enough to teach a class of teenagers Shakespeare. It's harder still when you come to school with your face all the colours of the rainbow."

"Your headmaster didn't give you any stick, did he?" Jason had been so worried about his headmaster finding out he'd been in a gay club. And having met the man, he seemed like a mean-minded little bastard.

"No more than usual." Jason put down the glass. "But my students! They've been exhausting me."

"They're giving you a hard time?"

"Not exactly. The girls want to mother me; I'm sure they've all constructed romantic fantasies about what happened to me. And the boys seem dead impressed that I got into a fight, even if I ended up on the wrong side of it. If I'd know that's what it took to turn their heads, I'd have arranged getting beaten up in September."

"Don't say that," Howard said, his tone harsher than he'd meant. But he'd seen the results of far too many beatings to take them lightly.

"No, you're right. I didn't mean that." Jason took a quick sip of wine, and his gaze darted nervously around the room, leaving Howard wishing he'd kept his gob shut.

"How's your face?"

"It hurts." Jason touched one cheekbone gingerly. "But it's not as bad as it was. And I've been learning to colour coordinate my clothes with the bruises. A new colour every day." He leaned back in the couch, a bit more relaxed, and stretched one long arm along its back, reaching towards, but not quite touching, Howard. "And how about you, Howard? How was your week?"

"Same as always. Wives being beaten by drunken husbands, shopkeepers being stolen from, punters fighting each other in bars." Howard looked down and played with the base of the wine glass. "I've been keeping an eye out for the bastards that beat you."

He didn't look up to see Jason's reaction to that, but he did hear him suck in a breath between his teeth.

"The less said about them, the better." Jason's voice was sharper than it had been, the smile completely drained from it. Howard looked up to see a frown had taken up residence on his face once again.

"Sorry. I won't mention them again."

"No. It's alright." Jason flashed a smile, though this one was a distant cousin to its earlier brilliant relatives. "It's your job. And how did you put it? Part of us sticking together?" Jason drummed his fingers on the back of the couch as Howard struggled to find something to say that would bring a proper smile back to Jason's face. His mind remained frustratingly blank, though, and it was Jason who spoke first.

"C'mon, then. Drink up and we'll get going. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Howard drove and Jason navigated, and they ended up at Jason's favourite restaurant in Rusholme. It was a place Howard had been past a thousand times but never gone into. He had his own favourites in this area. Jason's favourite, it turned out, was better. Much, much better.

It didn't hurt that the staff all knew Jason and treated him like family, and that they brought him all sorts of extras they hadn't ordered: a new dosa they were trying out, extra hot chillies they only ever gave to customers who'd been born in India, and that made Howard's eyes water, and didn't that make Jason laugh. 

By the end of the meal, Howard felt like he was part of the honorary family Jason belonged to. His fears that he'd have nothing to say to Jason had evaporated into nothing, and he hadn't smiled or laughed so much in, well, years really.

After their waiter—the son of the owner, Jason had informed him—had delivered their coffee and kulfi, Jason gave him one of his ever-present smiles and a kick under the table.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"How do you manage it?" Jason's expression had gone suddenly serious. "Working as a police officer when you're..." His voice trailed off, as if he didn't want to definitively label Howard.

"When I'm gay?" Howard said. They were on a date, after all. This was definitely a date. There was no point in holding back on admitting what he was. 

"Yeah."

"I don't know. How do you manage being a teacher?"

"I keep my head down and my nose clean." For the first time since they'd arrived at the restaurant, Jason didn't look happy. And Howard could understand why. It was frustrating, not being able to admit what you were. _Who_ you were.

"That's what I do, too."

"Why did you join the force?"

"I wanted to help people."

"I don't mean to sound sceptical, but surely there were other ways of doing that than in the police? After all, the police in this town haven't been terribly friendly towards people like us." 

And wasn't that a fucking understatement. The friends who knew he was gay had thought Howard was mental when he'd told them he was applying to the police, and they'd never stopped giving him stick about it. He'd lost more than one friend who just couldn't accept his decision. Jason, though, looked genuinely interested in what had driven him, looked like he might actually listen to Howard's reasons.

"When I applied, Anderton had just retired. I thought with him gone as Chief Constable, it would be easier to be gay on the force."

"And was it?"

"Well, there aren't any active witch hunts anymore, so that's good." Howard laughed, even though it wasn't really funny. 

"But?" Jason wasn't laughing. He was looking at him in all seriousness.

"But a lot of the senior officers worked under Anderton. They idolized the man, and they're not inclined to kick up a fuss if a constable puts the boot in to some poof on Canal Street. Or if they harass a fellow officer they suspect of being gay."

"I take it that means no one on the job knows you're gay?"

"My partner does. Nice bloke, Davy. Always trying to set me up with his cousin Fred."

"I take it Davy's cousin Fred is not your type."

"Not quite."

"What is your type?"

Howard nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee. Because how was he supposed to answer that? But then he thought, yeah, why not tell the truth.

"Tall, skinny school teachers." He took a mouthful of kulfi, and watched as Jason's eyes widened ever so slightly. "What's your type?"

"Tall, strapping police officers," Jason said without missing a beat, his expression calm, even as Howard felt his heart racing in his chest.

"Oh," Howard said, not quite sure what to do, now that his hand had been called. Fortunately, Jason didn't seem to have that problem.

"Shall we go back to my place?" Jason asked, his voice full of promises that couldn't be spoken aloud. Not in public.

"Yeah."

They both threw notes down on the table to pay for the meal and rushed out of the restaurant. They hadn't gone three steps when the sky, which had been grey and forbidding when they'd arrived, opened up and bucketed down on them while they sprinted the two streets to his car. They arrived at Jason's door, sodden and laughing, and stumbled into the house. With water still streaming down their faces, they pulled off each other's jackets and kissed right there in the living room.

At that moment, Howard didn't care how wet they were, didn't care if the shivers that wracked him were from Jason's touch or the cold, didn't want to lose contact with Jason as they climbed the stairs to the bedroom, hands held tightly together.

The bedroom was so Jason that Howard nearly laughed with the perfection of it. The bed had a duvet that was made from the same batik fabric as the curtains. The walls were lined with more bookshelves, with one small wardrobe in the corner. It was perfectly neat, and Howard wanted more than anything to mess it up.

"C'mon, you," he said, and pulled Jason to him, letting his tongue trace the line of his jaw before covering his mouth with his own. They stood like that for a long minute, Howard with his hands fisted in Jason's t-shirt, Jason's hands resting lightly on his shoulders as they explored each other's mouths, the heat and the feel and the taste of them.

Howard felt the heat spread from the kiss to his throat to his belly to his cock, felt himself growing hard, even as he could feel an answering hardness from Jason pressing against him.

He growled, and pulled Jason's shirt over his head, exposing a lean chest that he had to explore with hands, with mouth, with everything. Before Jason could object, Howard backed him against the bed and tipped him onto it. He crawled on top of him, surrounded him, even as Jason pushed his shirt up and his trousers down. He released Jason long enough for them both to scramble out of their remaining clothes, then they pressed together, skin on skin, heat on heat.

Jason bit his neck, the pain bringing a stronger edge to the pleasure, and it made him realize he didn't know anything about what Jay liked. Top or bottom, vanilla or kinky, he had no clue. But there was no time to ask; Howard was past talking.

Jason pulled back slightly, and he moaned in frustration until he felt Jason's teeth pulling so delicately at his nipple ring. He sighed in pleasure as the pull in his nipple moved towards pain, then retreated when Jason delicately released the ring.

He needed more, so much more. Dropping to one elbow, he thrust his hips, bringing their cocks together, holding them with his free hand. Jason arched his neck back immediately, and hooked an ankle around Howard's leg, bringing them closer together still. 

They moved in unison, their bodies as in sync as they'd been in the gym. Howard thought he'd never felt such pleasure, wondering how high he could go, but he was already on the edge, already falling, even as he strained to kiss Jason, to take his lower lip in his teeth, to feel his breath as Jason hissed in pleasure and they came together.

Howard collapsed beside Jason as he felt his arm give out, the wet on their bellies warm and sticky and so very satisfying.

They lay together, and Howard felt like his skin should be glowing, its look matching the feeling of utter satisfaction that flooded through every nerve in his body. But soon enough, Jason reached out and threw him a box of tissues and together they cleaned up. Then Jason pulled the duvet up and over them and sprawled bonelessly on Howard's chest.

"That were great," Howard said as Jason idly traced a pattern on his shoulder with his thumb.

Jason grinned, as expression Howard was rapidly becoming very fond of, but didn't say anything more for several long minutes. And when he did speak, it wasn't anything Howard had been expecting.

"I know who you are," Jason said before planting a kiss on Howard's collarbone.

"What, a Manchester copper?"

"No, not that. I remember seeing you at the Apollo."

Jason was still smiling, but Howard felt a cold shock of fear replace the pleasure he'd been feeling. He would have had to own up to recognizing Jason from the Apollo at some point, but he hadn't planned on it so soon. He didn't want to be dismissed as a creepy stalker, not when everything was going so well.

"Yeah?" he said, keeping his voice as calm and neutral as he could.

"Yeah." Jason rested his chin on Howard's chest and looked at him through lashes that were longer than most women's. "You were a good dancer. I always meant to talk to you, but never got around to it. There was always some chaos going on at the club, some distraction. I did wonder what happened to you, every now and then. Never pictured you as a copper."

"I know who you are, too." Howard nearly whispered the words. He swallowed hard, feeling his mouth dry out, but knowing he had to confess all. "I had a bit of a crush on you, back then."

"Did you?" Far from being freaked out, Jason looked chuffed to bits. "I don't know why you would. I was a scrawny young thing back then."

"You weren't." Howard was affronted on Jason's behalf. "You were gorgeous. And a brilliant dancer." 

"I weren't a bad dancer, but not as gorgeous as you were. And I was always jealous of your back flips. Could never manage them myself."

"They just take a bit of bottle." Howard put his hand on Jason's back, and then had a dawning realization. "Did you have a crush on me?" he asked.

"I might have done." And there was that grin again.

"Bloody hell. When did you recognize me?"

"As soon as you showed up on Canal Street in your big butch policeman's uniform. I thought I was hallucinating at first, but it was you." He looked a bit sheepish, but it didn't dampen his grin. "I may have had an ulterior motive for asking you to teach me self-defence."

"I may have had an ulterior motive for agreeing." Howard grinned along with Jason now. "And here I was afraid you'd think I was a stalker when you found out I remembered you from the club."

"We're both stalkers, so I reckon we're well matched." Jason reached up a hand and touched Howard's cheek with his fingertips. "Can you stay the night?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah. Do you want to?"

"Yeah." Howard caught Jay's hand and squeezed it tightly. "What did you have in mind?"

"I thought we could see what comes up," Jason said, then let his hand drift south.

"Bastard," Howard gasped out, and then he didn't say anything again for a long time.

* * *

Howard had two days off and wasn't due in until the night shift on Monday, but he still managed to be late. He ran into the station, got his uniform sorted in the change room, and found Davy sitting at the desk they shared with his feet up.

"Your buttons don't match up," Davy noted mildly.

Howard looked down, found Davy was right, and swore under his breath. He spent the next few minutes undoing and redoing all the buttons of his tunic as they sat through roll call and got their assignment for the shift. Davy showed remarkable restraint in not saying anything until they were safely in their panda car and on their way.

"Good date, then?" Davy asked as he pulled out into traffic.

"Yeah."

"Did you spend the night?"

"Yeah."

"Both nights?"

Howard hesitated before answering this time. But he could only hesitate so long before Davy looked over and gave him a look.

"Did you?"

"Yeah."

"Bloody hell, Howard. You're a dark horse." Davy laughed.

"Don't know what you mean." Sometimes pretending to be dim was his best defence. Except that Davy was long since onto him.

"I'll be you don't." He turned a corner and then spared Howard a look. "I hope he's worth it."

"He's brilliant," Howard said, and he couldn't help it, he gave Davy the smuggest grin he'd ever worn.

"Well, I'll tell you something for free. If you don't bring the brilliant Mr Orange over for dinner, and sooner rather than later, Marge is going to have my bollocks. And probably yours, too."

"We've only been on one date," Howard countered. "I don't know if I'm ready to inflict your family on him."

"The date was three days long. If he can handle you for three days, I'm sure he can handle Marge and the kids for a couple of hours."

"It were only two days." Howard did the mental calculations. "Plus tea tonight."

"I stand corrected," Davy said, then rolled his eyes.

"Well, it were," Howard insisted. It was going to be a long shift.

* * *

Howard always hated night shifts. He always was left feeling like a hollowed out shell as sunrise approached, and he never managed to sleep well enough during the day to entirely get rid of the gritty feeling in his eyes. But this week, he didn't give a toss that he was on four nights running. Because every afternoon he'd wake up, take a shower, get in his car, and make it to Jason's house just as he got home from the school. And every afternoon, in spite of them both swearing they were only going to have tea together, they ended up bollocks naked and shagging. 

Thursday he didn't even make it past the entryway before he had Jason up against a wall. They eventually made it to Jason's bed, but they didn't make it down to the kitchen for tea. And Howard didn't give a fuck.

"You're going to be starving if you don't eat something," Jason said.

"Thought I did eat something," Howard said, then bit down lightly on Jason's earlobe.

"Bastard," Jason hissed. "I was going to make you a sandwich, but you can make your own now.

Howard laughed, but then he caught a glimpse of Jason's alarm clock, and panicked.

"Fuck, I'm going to be late." He threw back the covers, and started throwing on his clothes. "I've still got to change once I get to the station."

"You know you'd save time if you just wore your uniform here."

Howard froze with one sock half on his foot. Because it wasn't anything he hadn't thought of, but it meant risk for them both.

"Is that wise?" he asked. In his street clothes, he was just another bloke visiting. But in his uniform he was visible. People would notice how often he was at Jason's, and if they noticed, they might start talking.

Jason looked at him and licked his lips, which Howard was beginning to recognize as a signal that Jason was mulling things over.

"Probably not," Jason finally said, his voice quiet and just a bit hesitant. He looked so sad, when he'd looked so happy just seconds before that Howard felt like a shit for pointing out how careful they had to be.

"Besides, that uniform is fucking scratchy." He finished putting on his socks. "The less time I spend in it, the better."

"We wouldn't want to chafe that delicate skin, would we," Jason said with a smile.

"It got enough chafing on your rug last night, thank you very much." Howard stood and patted his bum, leering at Jason. That earned him an outright laugh, and that was better. He preferred a laughing Jason to a brooding one.

Jason propped his head up on one hand and watched him as he pulled on his t-shirt.

"We're still on for the weekend, yeah?" Jason asked, his tone casual, but his eyes wary, as if even after all the time they'd spent together the last week he still expected Howard to dump him.

"'Course we are." Howard pulled his t-shirt down. "I'll even bring my gear over so you won't have to share your toothbrush anymore."

"Maybe I like sharing my toothbrush." Jason reached out and tugged at his hand.

"Liar."

Jason didn't respond, just pulled him down and thoroughly kissed him again. He only barely managed to pull away again, ran to his car, and made it to the station in time by driving only slightly above the speed limit. By the time he got changed, Davy was waiting for him, an almost annoyed look on his face.

"You've just done it again, haven't you?" Davy asked as Howard pulled away from the station in their panda car.

"Done what?"

"Had sexual intercourse with your young man," Davy said, putting on a posh accent.

"I might have done." He wasn't going to admit to anything outright, though he imagined the smile on his face told Davy everything he needed to know.

"Bloody hell. I didn't get that much action on my honeymoon."

"P'rhaps you weren't doing it right?"

"Shut it, sunshine. I know what I'm doing."

"I'll ask Marge, shall I?"

"Bloody cheek."

It was an average night, with the sorts of calls they always got on a Thursday night, when people were out to get an early start on the weekend. There were drunken brawls and pranged cars, and nothing Howard hadn't seen a million times. But then they got another call—a disturbance on Canal Street—and Howard felt his shoulders tense.

"It might not be the same blokes that bashed Jason," Davy said, as Howard put the siren on.

"But it might be," Howard said, and he clenched his jaw.

"If it is…" Davy trailed off.

"What?"

"Just don't put the boot in, that's all."

"They'd deserve it," Howard said, though he knew Davy was right.

"Of course they would. But we don't get to decide that."

Howard didn't say a word. He just gripped the steering wheel tighter as they drew closer to Canal Street.

"Promise me, PC Donald." Davy put on his official voice. The one he used when there were senior officers about.

"Oh, alright. I promise not to kick the shit out of the little bastards. Are you happy?"

"Absolutely." Davy sat back in his seat, looking a bit more relaxed now that he'd wrung out the promise. "But you know, if they resist arrest, I promise not to notice if you give them a little kick."

Howard almost laughed at that. Almost.

They pulled onto Canal Street, and Howard felt a wash of déjà vu. Once again there was a scrum of people in front of Churchills. Once again, most of them scuttled away once he and Davy emerged from their car.

But this time the sight that greeted them when the crowd cleared was significantly different.

* * *

"You should have seen it, Jason. It were brilliant."

It was Friday night, and they were sitting in the Eagle, Jason's local, two pints sat in front of them. He'd arrived at Jason's house, overnight bag in hand, and told him they needed to go out to celebrate. But he hadn't told him what they were celebrating until they both had taken a sip of lager.

"The crowd parted and there they were, the two little shits who beat you up."

"You don't know that for sure," Jason said, interrupting.

"Who else is going to sucker punch someone in the same way, coming out of the same pub? 'Course it was them." He took another sip of his pint. "Anyway, there they were. One of them's out cold on the pavement. The other one is being held down by three of the prettiest drag queens I've ever seen. The little bastard looked almost pleased to see us. I bet he thought they were going to kill him." He looked into space. "Maybe I should have let them have more of a go before we moved in."

"Howard!" Jason looked genuinely shocked.

"I wouldn't have done," he said quickly. "Not really. But I hate what they did to you." He wished he could hold Jason's hand, comfort him a bit, but they weren't on Canal Street now. He was beginning to think coming here hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had.

"It's okay. I'm over it." But the look in Jason's eyes was anything but the expression of a man who was over being randomly targeted by some yobbos.

"No, you're not." He gave Jason's foot a little kick. "But you will be. And I haven't told you the best part."

"What's the best part?" Jason sparked up, and Howard couldn't wait to share his news.

"The drag queens have agreed to testify in court. They practically fought over who gave a statement first. Those bastards are going to serve time over this one."

Howard had expected Jason to be as ecstatic over that news as he was. Because it was rare that they actually caught the bastard who had decided to have a go at a poof on Canal Street. It was rarer still to have a victim who was willing to testify in court. But Jason didn't look happy at all. He was biting his lip, and there was a small crease in his forehead, right between his eyebrows. 

"I thought you'd be pleased," Howard said, and he couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice. This evening was not going at all like he'd pictured it.

"I am pleased," Jason said, and Howard could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "Of course I'm pleased. It's just-" He stopped and looked down at the pint glass clutched in his hands. 

"It's just what?"

"Three drag queens are going to testify in court, and I wasn't even brave enough to let Simon give a description of the bastards." Jason's voice cracked, just a bit, and he began to pick at the beermat under his glass with a fingernail.

"Everyone's different, Jason. You shouldn't compare yourself to anyone else. I don't reckon any of those drag queens works for a close-minded headmaster."

Jason didn't respond, just shook his head and kept worrying at the beermat, and Howard felt the last of his triumph at having caught those bastards crumble into dust.

He tried to salvage the evening. He told Jason a few stories about Davy and his mad family, and told him Marge was insisting they come over for dinner soon. He pulled out his collection of bad jokes and told the absolute worst of them. He tried to get Jason to talk about any of the things he loved: literature, music, history, all the things he'd been so eager to share with Howard before. But Jason wouldn't be drawn out.

"I'm sorry, Howard," he finally said. "I'm not feeling the best. I think I just want an early night in."

"That's fine with me."

"Alone." Jason finally looked up and met his gaze, and Howard almost wished he hadn't. He looked scared. More scared than he had when Howard had first seen him on Canal Street, bloodied and hurting. And that scared Howard. 

But Howard wasn't going to fight him. Not right now. Much as he was beginning to feel as if he and Jason had always been together, should always be together, the truth was it had only been a week and there was so much about Jason he didn't know. If Jason needed the time to work through whatever it was he was feeling, Howard was going to give it to him.

"Alright," he said, hoping he didn't sound as defeated as he felt. "But I'll still see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Jason said, though without much enthusiasm.

Howard drained his pint, and they walked slowly together back to Jason's house and Howard's car. And they said goodbye on the pavement, in front of whatever prying eyes were looking through their nets, with no hug, no kiss, not even the lightest touch.

It wasn't until Howard was half way home, with oncoming headlights blurring in his vision that he realized he'd left his overnight bag at Jason's. And he couldn't help but feel he'd left more than a change of clothes and a toothbrush in that cosy little house.

* * *

Howard woke up Saturday morning to a ringing sound. It took him a few seconds to realize it was his phone, and another few seconds of thrashing around to grab the receiver from his nightstand.

"Hullo," he croaked down the line.

"Hello, Howard?" 

"Jason!" A jolt of adrenaline at the sound of Jason's voice woke him up. He blinked and stared at his alarm clock, wondering if he'd completely overslept, but the red numbers insisted it wasn't quite gone nine.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"No," Howard said immediately. Then, "Well, yeah," because it was obvious he wasn't awake yet. "But that's okay. Are we still on for today?"

"That's why I was calling. I wondered if we could meet at the Eagle for lunch."

"That's fine with me. At noon?"

"Yeah. See you then."

And before Howard could say anything else, Jason had rung off, leaving Howard wondering if he'd imagined the tension in Jason's voice. It would match how tense he felt himself. It had taken him ages to get to sleep last night. He'd just kept playing his conversation with Jason over and over in his head, wondering what he could have said to have it turn out differently.

He wasn't going to get to sleep again, not after that phone call, so he finally threw off the covers and got up. He went for a quick run, showered, and before he knew it, it was time to leave.

He got to the Eagle ahead of Jason, and claimed a seat in the corner, so he could see Jason when he arrived. Afterwards, he wished he hadn't.

When Jason finally showed up, a few minutes late and looking harried, the sight of the bag in his hand told Howard things were about to go pear-shaped. It was an ordinary duffel, navy blue and a bit battered from use. It held a toothbrush, toothpaste, brush, pants, and t-shirt. Howard knew all of that because he'd packed it himself. It was the duffel he'd brought over to Jason's yesterday. And Jason would have no earthly reason to bring it unless…no, that was too horrible to contemplate. It was impossible.

"So, are you going to take me away to the fleshpots of Blackpool?" Howard asked. Because if he made a joke of it, maybe what he feared wouldn't happen.

"Um, what?" Jason looked completely confused.

Howard nodded at the duffel.

"Oh." Jason looked down as though he'd forgotten he was holding anything. "Well…" He trailed off and sat down across from Howard, placing the duffel on the ground between them. "No," he said, his voice flat and emotionless and completely unlike his usual engaged and lively tones. "No, it's just-" He stopped again and looked at the ground, and Howard knew then that his worst fears really were about to come true.

"You're a lovely guy, Howard." Jason said without looking up, though a show of his usual smile flitted briefly across his face, a shadow that made Howard realize again how brilliant the past week had been and how much this was going to hurt. "But I don't think-" Jason stopped again, and licked his lips nervously.

Howard felt the hope, the unbelievable joy of the last week vanish as if it had never been. Jason was going to dump him. He didn't know why, but he knew it was going to happen as surely as he knew how much Jason meant to him. It was wrong and he hated it, but suddenly he wanted it over.

"You don't think what, Jason?" he prodded.

"I don't think it's going to work." Jason's voice sounded as dead as Howard's heart felt.

"You're a liar." Howard hit back with the power of all of the grief that was swamping him.

Jason's eyes widened in shock, and he finally looked up at Howard, his eyes haunted and too bright. 

"It's better this way."

"How is it better?" Howard felt as if he was losing a piece of himself he'd only just found.

"It just is." Jason moved to stand up, and stumbled slightly on Howard's duffel, catching himself on the edge of the table. "I'm sorry," he said, and then he was out the door of the pub and gone, leaving Howard sitting there with stinging eyes and a hollow heart.

"Your friend coming back, love?" their waitress asked.

"No." Howard forced the word out of his throat. "I don't think he is."

He sat in the pub for another hour, nursing his pint, watching other couples, happy, sad and indifferent, drift in and out the door as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Jason had said he was lovely, and then he'd dumped him. He couldn't move past those simple facts because they made no sense. Nothing made any sense. It was impossible that Jason had dumped him, except that he had. And Howard was left wondering what he'd done to drive him off.

He didn't want to sit in the pub anymore, but he didn’t want to go home. He couldn't face an empty flat when he'd expected to spend the whole weekend with Jason, when he wasn't entirely sure why Jason had left him.

Then he realized it was Saturday. Any other weekend, he'd already have been at Davy and Margery's house, helping Margery peel potatoes, kicking a football around the backyard with Joe. He could spend the rest of the day with Davy and his family. The kids would take his mind off Jason. 

So, he got into his car, and drove to Davy's. Margery answered his knock on the door with a wide smile.

"Howard." She gave him a hug. "Have you brought your young man for dinner?"

Howard hadn't planned on falling apart. He wasn't even sure if he was going to tell them what had happened in the pub. He'd half planned on lying to them, telling them Jason had been called away by a family emergency. But instead he collapsed, sobbing, in Margery's arms, taking great hiccupping gasps of air as she patted his back and made the same sort of soothing sounds he imagined she used when one of the kids was sick or hurt.

He ended up on the sofa, with Margery's arm around him, and Davy hovering in the doorway looking as uncomfortable as Howard would have felt if their positions had been reversed. Blokes didn't cry, especially not blokes who were coppers. It was part of the unwritten code.

"Sorry," he said, wiping the heel of one hand across his eyes. "Didn't mean to be stupid."

"You're not stupid, Howard," Margery said as she patted his back. "But can you tell us what happened?"

"It's Jason," he said, then stopped as he felt his eyes well up again, felt that awful prickling sensation at the back of his throat.

"Has something happened to him?" Margery asked.

Howard shook his head.

"Have you broken up with him?"

"He's broken up with me," Howard choked out.

"Oh, love." Margery gave him a tight hug. "I know it won't help at the moment, but he's a fool." Her voice was fierce, but in spite of her insistence, Howard was the one who felt like a fool. He'd only been seeing Jason for a week. Why had he let himself care so deeply for him?

But further tears were avoided when Sarah crept in for a hug and asked if he wanted to play dolls, and Joe came in a told her that boys didn't play with dolls. Somehow Howard ended up both playing dolls with Sarah and building Legos with Joe until Margery called them all in for dinner.

After Howard had read both Joe and Sarah two stories each and tucked them into their beds, he made his way back downstairs, where Davy and Margery waited for him in the living room. They wore anxious expressions they'd somehow managed to hide in front of the children. They were both holding glasses of wine, and there was a third glass on the coffee table for Howard.

Howard sat on the sofa beside Davy, took a large gulp of his wine, then sat back, waiting for the questions to come. He hoped he was ready for them this time.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Margery asked gently.

Howard shrugged. He knew he needed to talk to someone, but wasn't sure he could get the words out. But Margery didn't push, and she and Davy sat back and waited until he managed to speak.

"He told me he didn't think it was going to work," he finally managed, then took a deep breath. "We were in his local, and he told me, and then left me sat in the pub on my own." He could say the words without crying now, but it was a near thing.

"But why?" Margery sounded as confused as Howard felt. "It sounded like things were going so well."

"I thought so. He were brilliant, Margery. I weren't always sure why he'd want to bother with a bloke like me."

"You're a lovely man, Howard. Anyone would be lucky to have you."

"I was lucky to have him." He quickly took another sip of wine. "It was all too perfect. Well, until last night."

"What happened last night?" Margery asked.

"I told him we caught the bastards that battered him. He got a bit quiet after that, told me he wanted a quiet night alone."

"I'd think he'd be happy that you caught those men." Margery frowned.

"It wasn't quite that simple, Marge," Davy said. "He's a teacher. When he'd been battered he was more afraid of his headmaster finding out he'd been in a gay bar than anything."

"But he didn't need to testify," Howard said. "I told him that. I told him those drag queens were more than happy to do it. There was no need for his headmaster to find out. There was no need for him to be afraid."

But then he thought of what Jason had said. _Three drag queens are going to testify in court, and I wasn't even brave enough to let Simon give a description of the bastards._

And just like that, everything fell into place. Jason hadn't dumped him because he didn't think it would work. He didn't do it because didn't like Howard. The stupid fucker had dumped him because he thought he wasn't brave enough. Because in spite of everything Howard had told him, he was still afraid.

"Shit," he said. "The stupid bastard."

He looked over at Margery and Davy, and could tell they'd come to a similar conclusion. But that still didn't solve his problem. 

"What am I going to do?" he whispered.

"Convince him not to be afraid," said Margery. "Convince him he's brave. Convince him you're worth it."

"I don't know how." Even to his own ears, Howard sounded lost.

"You'll find a way, love. But not tonight." Margery took a sip of her wine. "Tonight we'll have a bit of wine, and you'll stay here, and then tomorrow you'll go see Jason."

"But-" Howard started to object, but Davy cut him off.

"You don't want to argue with her, Howard," Davy said. "You'll only lose. I speak from experience."

Howard didn't say any more, just took another gulp of wine.

"Good lad," Davy said.

* * *

The next afternoon, he drove the route to Jason's house clutching the steering wheel tightly and forcing himself to breathe.

When he'd woken on Davy's sofa, he'd found that he wasn't confused and he was no longer sad. He was angry. Angry at everyone who'd ever made someone afraid of who they were, of who they loved. Angry at those fuckers who'd beaten Jason, and Jason's bigoted headmaster, and the older cops at his station who still threw their weight around on Canal Street more than they should.

He held on to that anger now, letting it push away the fear that was still lurking at the edges of his mind, threatening to eat away at his strength, to give in to defeat before he even saw Jason. Arriving in front of Jason's house, he parked the car, walked up to the door, and knocked before the fear could gain the upper hand.

There was no answer, no movement from inside, so he pounded on the door even harder.

"I'm not going away, Jason," he said, convinced that Jason had gone to ground here, and not giving a toss if the neighbours heard him or not. "Open the fucking door."

He was just beginning to beat on the door a third time when he heard a stirring in the house, and the lock being thrown on the door. The door cracked open and there was Jason, his hair dishevelled, his face unshaven, and with dark shadows under his eyes.

"Go home, Howard," he said, his voice weary.

"I'm not fucking going home. I want to talk to you. Properly this time."

"There's nothing more to say," Jason said, and tried to close the door. But Howard was still angry, and he wasn't going to let anyone close a door in his face, not even Jason. So, he shoved the door open and pushed in past Jason until he was standing in the living room of the little house.

"I'll call the police," Jason said, his expression more dull than fearful.

"I am the police," Howard said. "And I just want you to talk to me."

"I've got nothing to say."

"You have to," Howard insisted. "Starting with why you think it won't work."

"I don't know."

"Why is it better this way?"

"I don't know," Jason said again, though the look in his eyes told Howard he knew what he was doing, and why.

"Why are you so fucking afraid, Jay?"

Jason froze, caught short by a truth he must have thought Howard couldn't see. His mouth was slightly open, and Howard could see the pulse in his throat, could see a tremor in his hand.

"Because we both have too much to lose," Jason whispered.

"You stupid fucker." Howard moved forward slowly, and gently took Jason's hands in his, feeling them tremble in his grasp. "This is all we have, all that's important." He squeezed Jason's hands tightly, until Jason winced in pain, but he didn't let go. "If we lose this, we lose everything. And I'm not fucking going to let you throw it away."

"Your stubbornness can't fix everything, How." Jason's voice was so quiet he almost couldn't hear it. "It can't fix the world we live in."

"Tell me you don't love me." It was the first time either of them had used the word love, but faced with losing Jason, Howard knew with complete certainty that it was what he felt for him.

Jason didn't say anything, just shook his head.

"You can't say it because it isn't true. And I'll tell you what: I love you, too."

Jason looked up sharply at that, his eyes filled with unshed tears, his mouth twisted into a grimace.

"Don't make this any harder, Howard," Jason pleaded.

"I have to make it hard, Jay. I have to make it fucking impossible. I don't want to lose you. Not to fear. Not to what might happen."

"I'm not brave," Jason said, finally returning the grip on Howard's hand. "Not like you. Not like those drag queens. I don't deserve a happy ending. I don't deserve you."

"You stupid, fucking bastard." Howard grabbed Jason by the shoulders and gave him a shake. "You're one of the best men I've ever met. And you probably deserve far better than me. But it's me you're stuck with."

Jason tried to pull away, but Howard hung on to him. And then, without warning, something changed, and Jason stopped fighting, stopped pushing him away. Instead he grabbed Howard's jacket and pulled him forward until their lips touched and their mouths opened and they were kissing, a kiss that said everything neither one of them could say in words.

Finally, Howard tried to pull away, but Jason clutched at him with a moan.

"Don't go," Jason said.

"I'm not going anywhere, you numpty. I just think we should get to the bedroom. The rug burn on my arse hasn't recovered from the last time you jumped me down here."

Howard knew everything was going to be okay when Jason laughed, and then pushed him towards the stairs.

* * *

There was a soft grey light coming through a gap in Jason's batik curtains, and Howard could hear a few odd birds beginning their morning song. He was spooned against Jason's back, and tightened his hold on his chest, enjoying the feeling of hard muscle under his palm.

He thought Jason was asleep until he spoke.

"I've been thinking," he started.

"If you can think, I've been doing something wrong," Howard said, then kissed his shoulder.

"I'm trying to be serious," Jason said, though Howard could hear the laughter in his voice.

"Oh, alright, then. You be serious." Jason's next words told Howard how serious he wanted to be.

"I want to testify." Jason's voice was soft and steady, but Howard could feel how his heart sped up in his chest, could feel the trembling of the hand that gripped his arm.

"You don't have to," Howard said immediately, because more than anything he wanted to spare Jason any pain and fear. 

"I want to."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"You said you didn't see them, you daft bastard." And that, thought Howard, was the end of it.

"Then I'll get Simon to testify."

"You don't have to. They're going to jail with or without your brother's testimony."

There was a long pause, during which Howard could hear Jason's breathing against the birdsong outside. Then Jason spoke again.

"I just...I want to be worthy of you."

"Jesus," Howard said, feeling like he'd just been punched in the stomach. Because talk about having it all wrong. "You're worth ten of me, Jason. I'm just a copper. You're smarter than I'll ever be."

"I tried to break up with you, didn't I? That wasn't so smart."

"Nobody's perfect."

"I'm not even close."

After the joy of their night together, there was such misery in Jason's voice that it threatened to break Howard's heart again. He gently rolled Jason onto his back, and looked down at him as he took hold of his hand. Jason looked back up at him, his eyes wide and worried. Howard looked at him, and tried to think of what he could say to take away all his sorrow, to soothe away all his pain.

"I'm going to keep telling you this until you believe me, Jason Orange. You deserve to be happy. You're perfect for me. And you don't need to make any fucking noble gestures." He squeezed Jason's hand. "And don't you fucking forget it."

"If I forget, will you remind me?"

"Every day, for the rest of your life, if I have to."

Howard felt Jason relax beneath him, saw the misery fade from his eyes.

"I'm going to hold you to that," Jason said, and gave him a smile. A proper Jason Orange all's-well-with-the-world smile. The kind of smile that made Howard love him even more. 

Because he did love the bastard, there was no question of that. And, he was going to enjoy proving it to him, even if it really did take the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**trope_bingo**](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) challenge. Trope used: au: cop/detective. Thanks, as always, to my first reader, the lovely [soundofthesurf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofthesurf/pseuds/soundofthesurf), to [moth2fic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic) for being a font of Manchester information, and to [Cenea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cenea/pseuds/Cenea) for a blazingly fast beta.


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